


Forever In Your Arms

by Oaklin



Series: Forever Everything [70]
Category: Chikara (Professional Wrestling), Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: (Madman Pondo briefly gets mentioned), (so expect us to be here for a while), (that chikara turney was wild), Brian The Bear is not actually his cannon name as far as I know, Canon-Typical Violence, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Pining, Purple Prose, Swearing, aggressive affection, casual physical intimacy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-10 05:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12291894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oaklin/pseuds/Oaklin
Summary: His life would be so easy, if he could only get a grip...





	Forever In Your Arms

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello!
> 
> So this is late, because yesterday was hell on earth and I ended up sleeping for like twelve and a half hours last night. I am so glad that this is my 'catch up on wrestling' weekend because man, I need the break. Anyway, on to fic-related things, this is set during a CHIKARA tournament back in '05, involving all of the very best(?) that the indies had to offer at the time. In short, it was a crazy mess of ridiculous bullshit (which in my opinion is the best kind of wrestling) and really, _really_ good wrestling.
> 
> Translations are in the end note!

“Oh, shut your trap. At least we won our match.”

Beef puffs up indignantly. “Brian and me did win our match! Which you would know, if you pulled your head out of your ass!”

“Like I would ever stoop so fucking low as to actually watch a match involving either of you,” Kevin snaps back immediately, waving a dismissive hand through the air right in front of Beef’s outraged face.

“Hey! I’m a goddamn beast in the ring, I will have you know. Me and Brian are unbearably bad ass. Even you couldn’t claw your way to victory at our expense-”

(oh for fucks’ sake)

Kevin contemplates throwing himself over the railing to spare himself another second of this horrible conversation.

Admittedly, the railing is about three feet high, and there is no drop on the other side, just more ratty carpet. Still, it’s the thought that counts.

(right)

Kevin heaves a long suffering sigh and levels Beef with an unimpressed look.

“The Bear's name is Brian?”

Beef halts his rambling, something soft and fond entering his eyes as he smiles gently at nothing in particular, no doubt thinking of his beautifully touching friendship with his newfound tag team partner.

Kevin is pretty sure he is going to projectile vomit up his intestines, right here in the lobby.

_-just make sure you get it all over the fuckers' shoes-_

“Yeah, of course his name is Brian. What have you got against the name Brian? Don’t make me go get American Dragon-”

Kevin grunts, supremely unimpressed with the hollow ass threat. “You can if you want, but you should probably know that they are not even spelled the same way. Idiot.”

Beef screws up his face, looking confused. “How else would you spell-”

“Is this yours?”

Kevin stiffens at the gravely, decidedly unamused voice. He turns, ignoring the slight tremor that echos through the room as everyone else stops what they are doing so that they can gawk. Putting all the scathing insults he wants to bite out aside, Kevin cringes when he sees ragged cutoffs and dirty combat boots stomping across the motel lobby towards him. He raises his eyes, feeling an annoying amount concern and an alarming amount of...

Well.

(not _fear_ , necessarily...)

_-...but fear?-_

(I said **not** fear)

_-what then?-_

(piss off)

_-thought so-_

“Uh,” Kevin mutters intelligently, breathing harshly through his nose as he gazes from Necro Butcher's looming presence to the bundle of spindly limbs and black and white cloth dangling from the large, imposing man’s arm.

“Speak up kid, goddamn. I’m an old fucking man, my hearing's going. You know how many death matches I’ve slogged my way through?” Kevin stills himself so he doesn’t flinch as he gets barked at in tones that suggest that there is no correct answer to any of the questions that he is about to be asked.

(fuck _this_ shit straight to **hell** )

“A lot?” he tries, watching the big fucker’s eyebrows inch up his forehead, a glint of something that he really really hopes is amusement tinging the veteran’s tone.

“Damn hell more than the years you’ve been alive, short shit. I swear, you kids get more soft and pathetic looking every year.”

Kevin would get offended by that, but Necro is staring meaningfully at Beef, not Kevin, so he let’s it go. Beef, for his part, just ducks down, using Kevin’s girth as a shield to (protect?) him from the wrath of the big scary Death Match Wrestler. Though, why exactly Beef thinks that Kevin would be willing to protect his useless ass from goddamn anything is anyone’s guess.

“Now, if you’d shut you trap for five fuckn’ minutes, I’d say what the hell I came over her to say, and then fuck off and let you little prima donnas get back to braiding each other’s hair, or whatever it is that you IWS kids like to do.” Kevin obliges, shutting his mouth and grimacing through the irritating silence as Necro waits patiently, presumably to see if he actually has Kevin’s attention.

Which is ridiculous. Given what is hanging limply from Necro’s arm, of course he has Kevin’s attention.

“That’s what I thought. Now, what I was trying to fucking say, is does this-” Necro shakes the bundle of pasty limbs and tassels, eliciting a groan that makes Kevin’s heart leap up into his throat. “-belong to you?”

And.

Well.

_(what)_

**(exactly)**

Is Kevin supposed to **_say_** to that?

“Yeah.”

Necro nods, hefting his burden up grabbing a pale chin and patting the little fool on the cheek, the movement much more gentle than Kevin would have given the big man credit for.

_-of all people-_

_- **you** probably should not be assuming things about anyone-_

(well...)

_-seriously-_

_-it's annoying when you pre-judge people too-_

(whatever)

“Hey, kid. Wake up, I found your guard dog.”

Necro gives Generico’s face another pat, and Kevin contemplates just telling the bastard to just take the skinny moron and go deposit him back wherever he found him. Still, it tugs at him, the losers slumped form and listless mewling as he (sleepily?) bats at Necro’s soft violence. Kevin fights down the pathetically sentimental and horrifically suicidal urge to reach out and punch Necro, not even sure why that is an urge that he is having in the first fucking place.

The little shit got himself into this, he can damn sure get himself back out.

“Oh for god’s sake. Hey, rise and shine, you puffy-eyed ginger pube. We have another match in like an hour. Wake the piss up.”

_-so much for staying out of it-_

(the little fucker needs somebody to have his back)

_-and that is you?-_

(...no)

_-god you are **dumb** -_

It works like a charm, at least. Kevin words, spoken harshly, coming up out of his throat like the copper haired sunbeam stole them from his vocal cords, rouses the near catatonic bundle of tassels and peach fuzz. He snaps up in Necro's arms, wobbling as the hulk of a man sets him down on the floor. Kevin reaches out, more on instinct than anything else, catching a pale arm and holding the moron steady as he gazes around him in confusion.

“Well. I feel better now. Keep a closer eye on your sanity next time, yeah?” Necro says, not waiting for an answer as he turns to leave.

Kevin resists the urge to bark at the man’s back, about all the ways in which that sentiment is wrong. About how the fool now grinning at him delightedly and throwing his spindly little noodle arms around Kevin’s middle, is not anything remotely resembling sane. Kevin wants to snap, at anyone and everyone, yell about all the ways in which the light makes him lose his mind, not keep it. He wants to shout to the heavens that produced this resplendent fiend, that he never asked for this burning sun to come barging into his murky world, tearing him apart until he is nothing but burnt rubble.

_-the darkness that **blinds** -_

_-and the light that **consumes** it-_

_-what a pair you two are-_

(never **wanted** -)

**_-doesn't matter-_ **

No. It doesn’t. Not anymore.

“I do. Usually,” Kevin says instead of all the dark thought searing through his mind.

“Yeah, I can tell, kid. That's why he was passed out on a crate in the store room.”

Necro stalks off, striding across the room to plop down on an upturned bucket next to Jacobs and Pondo. Jacobs says something that Kevin can’t pick up, and Necro indicates back towards Kevin. Jacobs raises an eyebrow and casts a look at Kevin, a weird little smirk on his face. Kevin shrugs at him in response the the gaze, waving off the smirk before turning his attention back to the fool in his arms.

“The fuck were you doing sleeping on a crate?”

* * *

"Mi amigo-”

“Don’t give me that shit. Are you crazy? Why the fuck were you napping in the back rooms on a crate, for fucks sake?”

Kevin’s voice is hard and stern, the tone making Generico’s shoulders slump. Worse than the anger, is the tinge of concern that his dear friend is clearly trying desperately to stamp down. Guilt gnaws at the pit of Generico’s tummy, making him cringe and sink down into Kevin’s arms, wrapping his arms even tighter around his beloved’s middle. Tucking himself tightly to the body in front of him, he purses his lips and hides his face, bracing his still groggy mind with the steadiness of the thick arms around him.

“Lo siento...”

“I don’t give a shit if you are sorry. I just saw you, like twenty minutes ago. How the hell did you even manage to wander off, fall asleep on a piece of plywood, and then get dragged back to consciousness by fucking Necro Butcher of all people?” Kevin leans back as he speaks, planting a hand on the top of Generico’s shoulder, his fingers sinking slightly too far into Generico’s collar bone, the pain making him wince.

“Bueno siesta-” he chokes, pulling back slightly as Kevin’s thumb pressed uncomfortably into the soft skin between his neck and his shoulder. Generico looks up, blinking, still sleepy and slightly befuddled, taking one of his arms from around Kevin’s waist and planting his palm over Kevin’s heart, just taking in the comfort of the steady rhythm.

“Yeah, I’m sure it was a fucking splendid siesta, good for you,” Kevin rasps, his voice going jagged and thin as they lock eyes. Kevin reaches up and pulls Generico’s hand from his chest, slapping it down on the bench, jerking Generico half over his lap in the process. Generico doesn’t move, just gazes at his dear (if somewhat confusing) friend in silence as they freeze there in the stilted peace.

“Estaba sonando contigo,” Generico whispers, fondness burbling up as he leans forward, resting his head against his partner's chest, sighing at the slightly sweat-slick smell of **_homefriendhappiness._**

“Must have been a hell of a nightmare then. I bet waking up to Necro’s face was a fucking relief.”

Generico hears the words that Kevin speaks, and the words that he doesn’t. Sometimes, it is hard for Generico to parse out exactly what is wrong with Kevin, because there are so many things that the man refuses to just say. Out loud. Kevin is Generico’s dearest friend, but Kevin is also a bit of an asshole, who has unreasonable expectations about the people around him. One of those unreasonable expectations is that Kevin seems to expect people to know and understand all the little things he would never say, and act accordingly, without Kevin ever having to do any work to get the conversation where it needs to be.

Generico can’t always pick it up, but sometimes, like now, he can practically feel all the little nuances and brittle half-truths flowing out of Kevin’s mouth, filtering out through the words he speaks, slipping through the patched together cracks of his self control. They seem to speak to Generico, telling him all the secrets that his dear friend buried in layers of faux narcissism and barely-held-together pride.

“Cuando sueño contigo..."

Generico pulls himself up, watching the way Kevin turns his head away from him as they move apart-

(as Generico moves _away_ from Kevin)

(Generico knows that that distinction is Very Important)

-Generico shifting into a standing position before plopping down on the coffee table beside his friend. He leans back, pressing his back to Beef, who has remained quiet this whole time, having politely turned away when Necro left. Generico is rater proud of that tact, a bolt of affection for his friend, glad that Beef was able to resist needling Kevin, if only for a few moments. He smiles when Beef presses back, though still doesn’t turn around, absorbed in whatever Hero is aggressively ranting about on the next couch over.

Generico reaches out, clasping Kevin’s knee between his fingers, drawing a wary look from the other man as Kevin turns back to look at him again. Generico fights the urge to roll his eyes at the sneer Kevin throws to Beef’s unresponsive back, pressing into the skin beneath his palm to get his beloved’s attention back on him.

“I am never in a nightmare,” Generico smiles softly, the look of baffled obliviousness on his dearest friend’s face making a fierce fondness bubble up in his chest.

“Soy libre.”

**Author's Note:**

> Did the bear puns kill you? I'm not sorry at all ^.^
> 
> Translations!  
> Mi amigo~ My friend  
> Lo siento~ I'm sorry  
> Bueno siesta~ Good nap  
> Estaba sonando contigo~ I was dreaming of you  
> Cuando sueño contigo~ When I dream of you  
> Soy libre~ I am free


End file.
